


6,000 Years

by StarkRogers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: A fill for my own damn prompt on the Good Omens Kinkmeme. Sometimes, you just gotta fill your own prompt!![Link to prompt on Kinkmeme]Crowley has never actually orgasmed before: sex is used for temptation, and that doesn't include the culmination of the act itself. Aziraphale lovingly guides Crowley through accepting his own desires.





	6,000 Years

For all Aziraphale’s complaints that Crowley went too fast, once the apocalypse has been averted it turns out Crowley is the one going far too slow for Aziraphale’s tastes. The demon attempted to explain with hand waving, muttering and an odd shrugging that implied he owned more shoulders than just two, but the major point that came across was that physical contact and seduction belonged firmly in the realm of “temptation”, and was not something Crowley had ever actually participated in for his own enjoyment. He’d participated, obviously, he’d just not… been allowed to enjoy it.

Well. That simply wouldn’t do; as someone who greatly enjoyed all of life’s pleasures, Aziraphale couldn’t let Crowley avoid it any longer. And it wasn’t that the demon was averse to such things; on the contrary, he quite liked them, he just had a difficult time being convinced that he wasn’t somehow corrupting Aziraphale every time they touched. To believe that Aziraphale wasn’t in fact repulsed by the very idea of touching Crowley.

Therefore, Aziraphale starts small: fingers brushing against Crowley’s when they’re alone together, warm hands on Crowley’s shoulders for just the briefest of moments while on the way to fetch his tea, knees pressing together on the settee as he reads a good book. Crowley reciprocates, but it takes weeks before he hesitantly initiates contact of his own volition: one day when they’re both sitting on the settee reading, Crowley reaches out and runs his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale turns his head in surprise and warmly rewards Crowley with a smile that could blind the pope. Crowley garbles out something that resembles words if you don’t listen too closely, turns red, and somehow slips up, over and off the back of the settee. It’s not a complete disaster; Aziraphale follows Crowley over the back of the settee with a soft laugh, and they have a nice nap there on the plush carpet.

After that Crowley is less hesitant to touch Aziraphale, and they develop an unspoken language of fluttering fingers and warm shoulders that touch for no other reason than to feel one another’s warmth. Scandalously they progress to kissing, and to Aziraphale’s delight it’s Crowley who suggests it first. Crowley of course is not an inexperienced kisser (he is a demon after all), and once he realizes that Aziraphale is quite educated in the department of tongues and teeth, their mouths collide at least once a day.

\-----

Aziraphale does not find out the extent to which Crowley had been denied carnal pleasure until several months into their very slow (yet strangely fast, given the past 6,000 years) courtship. They’d been kissing that evening in bed, and touching, and in a fit of bravery, Crowley had demanded they both disrobe. He quickly seemed to lose his nerve though, as soon as the clothing actually came off.

“Are you sure, Angel?” Crowley asks, as Aziraphale pulls off his trousers.

 _If I was not an angel graced with God’s patience_ , Aziraphale thinks to himself, but he just smiles at Crowley.

“I assure you; this is all entirely my will,” Aziraphale replies, consoling Crowley’s fears. “Come here,” he adds softly, laying back down on the bed and opening his arms. They’ve laid in bed together many times now, but always fully clothed.

“I don’t want to seduce you,” Crowley mutters, sinking stiffly into Aziraphale’s arms.

“You aren’t,” Aziraphale assures him, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair: familiar, comforting territory. He feels Crowley relax in his arms and praises him with kisses on his forehead. “That’s it, darling.” Crowley shudders in a way that has become commonly delightful for Aziraphale, and he eagerly accepts Crowley’s hungry mouth.

Hands travel down bare skin; the removal of clothing seems to have removed some of Crowley’s inhibitions as well, and Aziraphale finds himself gasping as he’s touched in places for the first time in centuries, and never by Crowley. He’s careful to return only the favors Crowley gives; Crowley groans beside him, a soft growl in the back of his throat as he throws back his head (they’d had to work on that too: that it was quite alright if Crowley made noise while they were together, that in fact Aziraphale _enjoyed_ it and did not consider it to be gauche or rude).

“Aaaangel,” Crowley moans, reaching out as hands grasp and slide, as hips rock, and for a wild, exciting moment Aziraphale thinks things may actually come to completion – but then Crowley is pulling away, taking deep breaths and quite obviously trying to calm himself back down.

“What’s wrong, love?” Aziraphale asks, barely managing to hold back his groan of frustration, and Crowley blinks up at him with such a befuddled expression that Aziraphale knows there’s something more going on. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine of course,” Crowley replies, trying to look innocently confused, but innocence was not an expression that came naturally to him, and Aziraphale sees right through it, especially since Crowley is flushed from head to toe, panting and very obviously in need of a hand (ahem). He seems to be ignoring all of that though, in favor of pretending none of it is happening.

“Then why have you stopped?” Aziraphale asks patiently. And here now, finally, Crowley’s eyes shift away the way they had when he’d first explained about everything months and months ago, and Aziraphale gets the idea that perhaps he’d not explained quite _everything_ at the time.

“Well, you know…” Crowley begins, and Aziraphale waits, choosing not filling in the blanks with assumptions. “I’ve never actually – er – gone further than this, you know. It’s _temptation_ , not – ”

“You’ve never had an orgasm!?” Aziraphale yelps, startling them both. He’s _shocked_ , he’s _indignant,_ he’s – “Oh good Lord you poor thing,” he gasps.

“It’s really not _that_ big of a bother,” Crowley says grumpily. “The journey is far longer than the destination, isn’t it? What’s all the fuss over a few seconds?”

Aziraphale nearly faints. He presses a hand against his forehead to gather his senses for a few moments, then closes his gaping mouth, as he can’t think of anything to say and letting one's mouth hang open is rude.

“Well you must have one at once,” Aziraphale says once he finds words

“I don’t… think that’s quite how it works,” Crowley says with a bit of a smirk. “I may never have done it, but I’m quite adept at _not_ doing it, and from experience it’s not a thing one can just… do.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Dear Lord,” he mutters. _Give me more patience_. He gives a deep sigh to clear his head and nods mostly to himself. “Well, do you wish to have one? An orgasm, I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Crowley says quickly. “And… I don’t know. I don’t think demons are supposed to… enjoy the act, really. It’s just business, temptation is. Perhaps if – you went first?” At any other time, such a line would come across as flirtatious, but Aziraphale hears only hesitation and worry in Crowley’s voice, and knows his demon isn’t trying to be coy at all.

“What are you afraid will happen if you do?” Aziraphale asks, propping himself up on one elbow. Crowley waves one hand in a wavy sort of way, trying to find words.

“Oh, you know. Struck down by lightning, perhaps. Engulfed in flames. Maybe it’ll just fly off – ”

Aziraphale snorts with laughter despite how rude it is and how serious Crowley is being, but he can’t help himself. Crowley gives him a reproachful look.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale says softly, gently placing his free hand on Crowley’s cheek. He lifts himself up a bit more until his upper body is over top of Crowley’s. “I can, however, think of a way we could ensure neither lightning nor disappearing cocks will be a problem.” Crowley swallows hard beneath him, and Aziraphale resists the urge to nip at his bobbing adam’s apple. Crowley’s hands reach up and grab Aziraphale’s thighs with silent concern, and Aziraphale slides a leg over, straddling Crowley’s hips.

“I’ll be the only one who comes tonight,” Aziraphale explains, leaning down to kiss Crowley’s chin. “You needn’t worry yourself about it one bit.” Relief un-creases Crowley’s face, and his hands on Aziraphale’s hips soften slightly.

“Aziraphale… angel. Promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” Aziraphale replies, taken in by the heavy seriousness of Crowley’s voice.

“If I tell you to stop, you _must_ ,” Crowley says, and it’s obvious this has been a fear riding heavy upon him. “If I let you… control this. You have to promise – ”

“My dearest,” Aziraphale says, his voice soft and heavy and warm. He takes Crowley’s face into his hands, wanting to somehow melt their minds together so Crowley can see how earnest he is. “Yes, Absolutely. Without a moment’s hesitation, I swear it.”

“And if you’re close, you’ll tell me?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods once more.

Crowley nods too then, his eyes slipping half shut with trust. Their lips meet, hands seek out each other’s lengths, and in a few short minutes they’re both gasping for air again.

“Mm… darling, I’m afraid I won’t hold out much longer,” Aziraphale pants, writhing in Crowley’s lap. The demon really was dastardly talented with his hands.

“Let me – let me watch you,” Crowley stammers, pulling his hands away as if they’re on fire, causing Aziraphale to curse quietly at the loss of contact. “You’ll have to do it, I can’t – can’t – ”

“Hnn,” Aziraphale says, going for soothing but only managing a strangled groan and a smile. He wraps his hand around his own length and sits up straight; he’s going to give his darling demon the show he deserved. Crowley’s hands reach out, but then fall back to the bed next to his head as he watches Aziraphale, his lips half open, his breath matching Aziraphale’s as he gasps. Aziraphale thinks it’s a little unfair that even doing nothing, Crowley is somehow driving him wild. Well, look at the man: his yellow eyes half open, his lovely lips parted, the hitched intake of breath… Aziraphale moans with delight as he comes.

“Oh, you undo me,” Aziraphale groans softly. He opens his eyes and looks down lovingly at Crowley, who is looking back up at him with awe.

“I could watch you do that every day for the rest of eternity,” Crowley says earnestly, and Aziraphale chuckles.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, I’m quite partial to the experience myself,” Aziraphale says, laying down beside Crowley - who, Aziraphale notes a bit proudly, is still flushed and standing at attention down below, though the demon clearly has no intent of doing anything about it. And that’s alright, Aziraphale decides.

“You’ve done absolutely wonderfully,” he says, kissing Crowley’s nose.

“You’re not disappointed?” Crowley asks.

“Not in the least,” Aziraphale assures him. He pulls the sheets up over the both of them, and they fall asleep, content.

\-----

Day by day Aziraphale coaxes out more from Crowley; Aziraphale relishes their time together as every successful step makes the demon braver. Crowley quickly proves he’d meant it when he’d said he’d let Aziraphale control everything: with growing trust he lets Aziraphale be the one to bring him to the edge. Aziraphale learns exactly how far he can push Crowley before he must stop, and Crowley no longer shies away from being the hand – or mouth – that causes Aziraphale to release. The day Crowley lets Aziraphale sit on his cock is seared into his memory.

Aziraphale is re-shelving books downstairs (bloody customers, who ever gave them the right to move the books about!?) when Crowley comes up behind him, grabs his hips, pulls them backwards and snarls in his ear:

“I want my cock inside you, Angel.”

 _I have created a monster,_ Aziraphale thinks with a delighted shiver. It’s a testament to Aziraphale’s own self control that he manages to remember to lock the door with a miracle before dragging Crowley upstairs.

They’re well-versed at undressing one another by now, and before Aziraphale can think about anything else they’re both naked on the bed, Aziraphale straddling Crowley’s hips. Familiar territory, Aziraphale thinks, except this time – oh yes, _this time_ he’ll have almost everything he could ask for.

“Same rules as always,” Crowley says, pulling Aziraphale down for a kiss.

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale replies, smiling against Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale can barely contain himself as Crowley fills him; he utters a long list of litanies he never would’ve dared before the Apocalypse. The world almost ending put swear words into a new perspective however, and Aziraphale puts every “fuck!” “shit-” and “Jesus fucking Christ!” to good use. When Crowley can’t take any more, he pulls Aziraphale off, replaces his cock with his fingers, and draws out a glorious orgasm from somewhere deep inside Aziraphale. It leaves Aziraphale wrecked for the rest of the day, and he loves it.

\-----

The night Crowley comes, it’s not even planned. It’s not grand at all; they’d crawled into bed with the lights off at the usual time with their usual bedclothes on, and bedtime kisses had led to entwined legs and groping hands that slipped beneath elastic waistbands. Aziraphale can feel the tightness in Crowley’s body meaning he’s coming close to the edge and begins to pull his hand away when Crowley reaches up, grabs Aziraphale’s wrist and stays it. His whisper is almost inaudible.

“Don’t stop.”

Aziraphale’s world stops for the duration of exactly one inhale, and then he takes Crowley back in hand as their mouths press together. Crowley shivers, his breath stuttering as Aziraphale continues to stroke him, and the air is so quiet Aziraphale can hear every hitch in Crowley’s breathing. Crowley reaches up, pressing a warm hand to Aziraphale’s face as his mouth falls open, no longer focused on kissing, his breathing so shallow he’s barely taking in any air at all. Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s face twists into that beautiful expression that encapsulates pain and pleasure in the same moment, as Crowley silently comes, gasping for breath only as his body shudders with release.

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything, because the moment doesn’t need words: it needs Aziraphale’s arms wrapping tightly, protectively around Crowley, who cleaves himself against Aziraphale’s body as the shivers subside. They fall asleep like that, tightly held in one another’s arms.

They wake up in the usual messy jumble; Crowley having somehow stolen all the blankets and then kicked them off the edge of the bed, laying akimbo on his stomach, one arm flung over Aziraphale’s stomach. Aziraphale hums, still half asleep but feeling a sense of satisfaction that soaks deep into his bones. The memory behind the feeling wakes him with a warm flush, and he looks over at Crowley, who’s just as ungraceful asleep as he is awake. Crowley lazily opens one eye, looking across the pillows at him. They just stare at one another for a few moments, saying things silently. Much like last night, these are things that don’t need words, just eyes, and the soft lines of a face, and the way smile lines grow deeper as lips pull into a grin.

They get up and Crowley helps Aziraphale make breakfast. Crowley places a kiss on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale knows it means “thank you”. For last night, for tomorrow, for every day that will come after…


End file.
